From a Different Point of View
by Black Wolf's Shadow
Summary: Basically, this is book 3 of the HP series, from Remus' and Sirius' POVs, with some creative embellishments. SLASH Remus/Sirius. As a WIP, I need feedback please to know if people want me to continue this!
1. Chapter 1

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Remus Lupin sighed as he stared at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. A gaunt and waxy face stared back at him and Remus could only be glad the picture, while able to move, could not talk. Oh, the lies it would have said…Just like he'd lied for too many years.

Worst of all was the uncertainty; Remus wasn't sure that, even now, he'd be able to close his ears to those seductive lies. There had been too much between them, he thought, for him to ever be able to completely shut out his former lover, despite the horrors and atrocities he'd wrought in their lives.

This particular face, both achingly familiar and now utterly foreign, prodded the deepest and most repressed memories that Remus would never admit to having. And the sensation was a lot more bitter than sweet.

Sirius Orion Black was the man belonging to that face on the page, or, at least, that's what the following article said. Even his friends… make that _former friend_, as there was only one left now, didn't completely recognize him, so changed was he since the last time they'd seen each other. That last night with all its mistrust and harsh words… It didn't bear thinking about and Remus forcefully closed the door on his memories as he had for too many years.

He scanned the article quickly, noting the important phrases, and sank back into his chair, covering his eyes with the palms of his hands as the truth made itself known in his brain in the form of a headache that squeezed right behind his eyes.

For thirteen years, Merlin knew he'd been expecting something like this. Sirius Black was too cunning and too sly to be held for long against his will, or that's what Remus had believed, anyway. As each torturous year passed and the news of Sirius' escape did not come, Remus grew more and more convinced that it would be soon, very soon, rather than being convinced they had succeeded in finding a way to hold him forever. It was the reason he was sighing in resignation rather than running about in alarm as he suspected the rest of the Wizarding world was doing; you can't be surprised by what you know is coming.

Sirius had never been one for confinement. Or rules. Or honesty. Or, apparently, loyalty, friendship, trust, or anything else that damn well mattered in this universe and every other one that could possibly be out there!

Remus slammed a fist down on the meager kitchen table in front of him as his temper got the best of him, shattering the wood and sending broken pieces and splinters to the floor.

Muttering a blistering oath against werewolf strength and his own lack of good sense that he'd learned a lifetime ago from another black-haired boy, he grabbed his wand and waved it rather more forcefully than was necessary at the mess, which jumped back together and resumed its former shape as though time was rewinding. There was no telling how much longer this particular table was going to last; it had been through so many _reparo'_s that by rights the spell should have stopped working by now.

Remus remembered a few of the instances in which he'd had to mend it before, remembered a specific instance that he hadn't thought of in almost fourteen years, and then buried the whole lot beneath a blanket of denial. He would not go back there, he wouldn't think of it, he'd successfully avoided all of that until just now with that stupid article and that stupid face and that stupid ex-friend who was once so much more than that…

Face as white as the picture in the paper, Remus' tight grip shattered the table again at his memory. He fixed it again. And muttered, "stupid, stupid, stupid," under his breath like a litany as he grabbed the only other piece of mail he'd gotten, a heavy, emblazoned envelope, in hopes of some sort of distraction.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay, decided to put Ch 2 up just so everyone could see how this will work and get Sirius' POV; I'm attempting to go back and forth between Remus and Sirius for every other meeting so I hope it goes over well. R/R if you have a second!

-Shadow

* * *

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," muttered the convict in question, hundreds of miles away and for entirely different reasons.

Sirius Black, once heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, was squashed against the wall of a… house by the… fence right in front of him. He still had trouble remembering words, even after almost a full day out of That Place.

Sirius did not say The Name. Sirius did not _think_ The Name, even though it was one of the very few words he could not, would never be able to forget. Because if he said The Name, the other words came crashing out along with the darkness and the cold and the nightmares that came even when there was daylight outside and the fear and the screams and the terrible, bone-deep sorrow and hatred that were all the things he had left.

Them, and the unreasoning, mind-consuming obsession to _finish_ that which had been started all those years ago.

Peter Pettigrew.

Sirius snarled violently at the name and the images that came with it, a price of living for far too long as Padfoot, his only refuge.

James… Lily… Little Harry… _And Remus_, his mind whispered. He had those memories and the pictures of their deaths and their pain because the things couldn't take them from him. They had no interest in that which tormented their victims, only in that which could give them any shred of light or hope in the darkness of That Place.

"Traitor, murderer, oath-breaker, liar, deceiver, I will not hesitate to erase your blackened, filthy, corrupted excuse for a soul from the face of this planet at the very first chance I can get you! You will die for what you've done!" Sirius screamed, quite unaware he was even speaking aloud until lights flickered on right above his head.

With barely a thought, Sirius was back in Padfoot's equally unfortunate form and limping through the underbrush to melt into the shadows and get away from people. Words, when they concerned Peter Pettigrew, he had no trouble remembering. He'd muttered them for years, but directed them at himself for failing, for giving the Dark Lord the very keys he'd needed.

Sirius had had him. He'd had Peter, right there in front of him, merely a day after James… after James… after Lily… Little Harry… _And Remus_… His memory played the images for him again, triggered now by just the thought of The Event. Each thought relentlessly dragged forth the next until the whole cascade played in his broken mind.

Padfoot whined and scrambled into a run, shaking his shaggy head and trying to dislodge the torrent of awful pictures that wouldn't give him a moment's peace. Not only could he not remember some words, some of the words he could remember, wanted and needed to remember, came tied to those bloody memories. Not only could he not speak, he had to be careful what he thought, too. And that was an exhausting task.

With effort, he remembered his original thought, and snarled again at Peter's name, the effect much more satisfying in a canine's body. He'd had Pettigrew right there and could have killed him cleanly with one shot. Right there! So close he could have torn the man's throat out.

But Peter, whiny, poisonous, traitorous, treacherous, back-stabbing, lying, murdering little Peter had shifted forms in the face of Sirius' rage and fled to the sewers before Sirius could see past the haze in his eyes to kill him properly. And the rage that had filled him at Peter's escape had released pure, uncontrolled magic that did what he'd wanted it to do. He'd wanted to kill, and it had killed those faceless, nameless Muggles on the street nearby.

He laughed then. He remembered the laughing. He laughed because of the unfairness of it all.

He laughed because he remembered Remus, already so tormented, learning of The Event, and now he was going to learn what he, Sirius, had done.

He laughed because it was so hopeless, so insanely, incredibly, extravagantly unfair that someone such as Peter should be allowed to live.

He'd laughed because he'd failed to protect Harry, and now that damned prophecy was going to come true and he'd failed James, and Lily, and Remus, and Harry, and he was so utterly, completely, and totally damned to mess up every good deed he tried to do because of his damned _heritage_.

But now, he'd had a chance to fix it. And with his god-forsaken heritage, he'd not only managed to scare Harry away from him, he'd nearly managed to get him killed. Padfoot cringed and whined, nearly crawling down the street as Sirius imagined James' hateful glare directed at him. Sirius still had his imagination, or what was left of what he'd once had; it was torn, warped, and twisted until all it could show him was hatred, hopelessness, and despair.

"You're supposed to protect him, you filthy animal, not get him killed! What kind of protector are you?!" James would yell. Padfoot cringed lower.

"James… I'm sorry…" he whispered, shrinking away from the man who was once his brother in all but name. He failed to realize he'd cowered into the street until he tripped in a sewer drain and went down hard.

"Sorry! Sorry failed to cut it the night you got us killed, Sirius! And now you're trying to do the same to Harry! I regret the day that the thought ever crossed my mind to make you godfather to him!"

"No… no…" Sirius whispered, clambering to his feet and clutching his hands to his head. In the confusion in his mind, Sirius had changed back to human form without even noticing and he now walked down the street clad in his assorted rags, shaking his head wildly and whispering to himself. "I didn't, I swear, I didn't hurt Harry! I'm protecting him, I will protect him! I promise!"

"Your promise is as worthless as Peter's was! Look at this mess you've created! Go on, look at what you've failed to do, all you've failed to protect!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry," Sirius moaned continuously as he staggered down the street. Only when he staggered into a tree and hit the ground, dazed, did he realize he was human again and seconds later, a howl that made the soul turn cold split the air as Padfoot mourned in the only way a dog could.


	3. Chapter 3

"It should not, as a general rule, be possible to feel this much pain and still be alive. And human," Remus mused to himself.

It was two days after the news of Sirius' escape and the arrival of that fateful letter and Remus was undignifiedly pacing the tiny confines of his secluded house. He hated pacing. Pacing was the wolf's trait, born of years of confinement, and Remus made an exhausting point to fight the wolf at every possible turn. But he was too restless and too upset to stop himself. Every time he passed the poor kitchen table, he looked at the offending letter as he passed, both assuring himself it was still there and blaming it for his current predicament.

The letter was from Hogwarts. He had been considerably surprised to see the too-familiar emblem on the back when he'd first picked it up; one finger had traced nostalgically over the scarlet section with the gold lion for several minutes before he'd dared to even break the seal. And if he'd thought he was surprised before…

It had taken several more minutes of stunned rereading before the meaning of the letter actually sank in. They, meaning Dumbledore, wanted him. To teach. At Hogwarts. As Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. In less than two weeks. This realization was followed by joy, quickly squashed, then, more slowly, anger, resentment, and pain. The last had been eating at him for the two days between the receipt of the letter and the agreement that Dumbledore would come to more personally speak with him about the matter.

Back in the schooldays that Remus so very rarely allowed himself to dwell on anymore, his friends had many times told him that he was perfect for the role of a teacher. Of course, being the Marauders, such a thing was often followed by teasing as it wasn't a very Marauder-ish trait and clashed with the general image of carelessness towards assignments in favor of making trouble. This was at least until one or the other needed help with homework, in which case they never had any problems singing Remus' praises until he was so embarrassed and confused by their attentions he would give in just to get them to shut up.

But, secretly, due to their sincere words of praise and their great relief when he helped them, Remus had hoped to teach, one day. Even back then, as a child, he knew it was unrealistic at best. Moony owned much more of him than just the time during the one full moon of the month; the distrust, the fear, the discrimination would keep him from ever being put in charge of other people, much less vulnerable students. He'd never allowed himself to hope for much, but this wish he could not deny even as he knew it would only bring him grief to see it forever unfulfilled.

And now he had it, this wish that had seemed so unlikely.

But following the joy had come resentment. Why did they want him? He thought it was probably just because they thought his 'life experiences' would be handy for the children to see. Since he was a 'Dark Creature,' he must surely have all sorts of knowledge about the others of 'his kind,' right? How better to be prepared than to have first-hand knowledge of how the other side worked? Even though Remus had absolutely no dealing with other 'Dark Creatures' besides himself.

The feelings of being used brought anger with them; despite the curse and whatever life had done to him, he was still human. What Remus had termed his James-conscience told him that he should expect to be treated better than that; James had been the most vocal in assuring him of that very humanity, second only to Sirius. But as Sirius was less than nothing to him now, it was James' name this little voice acquired.

It was the James-conscience that objected to Remus being nothing more than a freak on show while Remus was more accepting, knowing that he had no choice and couldn't fight the stereotypes of the whole world. But that on-show feeling was exactly the feeling he had so dreaded when he went to Hogwarts the first time around and this time, there'd be no friends to help him…

With that thought and the anger came the pain, running much deeper and darker. Hogwarts. The very name was difficult to get off his tongue anymore. Hogwarts had been his home for six years, sometimes more his home than his real home. It had given him his only friends, his courage, his life, and his first, and still only, love in the form of one of those few friends. When he allowed it, he could still picture all those years in almost perfect clarity; even back then, he'd known that this was likely to be the brightest time he'd have in his life and he'd treasured every moment of it. Even the frequent and sometimes entirely undeserved detentions.

But he'd locked those memories away, preserving them from the dirtiness and the onslaught of time, of life that crawled by now that he was so very and incontrovertibly alone.

How could he bear to walk those halls? How could he stand to be in the Great Hall again, scene of so many plots, pranks, conversations, food fights, and generally precious memories when every day it would be impossible to ignore the fact that his friends were no longer beside him? How could he bear to see other children sit where he and his friends once had and not get sucked under by the memories? For that would be an existence almost worse than death, having to relive the happiest days of his life, knowing he'd never be that happy again.

So it was to that conflicted state of mind that Albus Dumbledore walked into when he arrived at the not-quite-house of Remus J. Lupin. The _crack!_ of his Apparation made Remus jump before he hurried to the back door to greet the formidable Headmaster and former Professor.

"Remus, how lovely to see you again," Dumbledore greeted him, his solemn tone putting the words at odds with his voice. Remus nodded and opened the door fully to allow the taller man into the house.

He was relieved to see that Dumbledore was not taking this lightly; it was clear the older wizard was in one of his rare serious moods when he politely turned down the cup of tea Remus offered him.

"I am sorry Remus, but time is short. Pleasantries must wait for another, happier time. Have you thought about my offer?" he asked as he settled into a chair in the living room. Remus, tired and aching, dropped rather less gracefully into another and ran a hand through his hair.

"I have, Headmaster. Quite a bit, I'm willing to say," he returned.

"And have you reached an answer?" Dumbledore pressed him gently. Remus blew out a frustrated sigh before shaking his head.

"I haven't…" he started, then stopped and started again. "I can't…" he got out, and then stopped again. "I'm not… It's not _safe_, Headmaster! Six years was asking more than enough from luck as it is, my returning there places everyone in danger again and… I won't risk that." _Not after last time_, he mentally added, the pain of the night he'd almost killed Severus hitting him again. And then the other close calls when James and the others freed him from the Shack… Too close, too close by far…

"And if I was to say that, as impossible as it may seem, the danger has been made irrelevant?" Dumbledore asked. Remus looked at him in obvious disbelief.

"'Irrelevant'? There is never an absolute guarantee of no danger with a werewolf, no matter how good the cage or how skilled the protecting wizard may be," he said bitterly. "To risk my presence again at Hogwarts…"

"There is a potion, Remus," Dumbledore said earnestly. "It is very new, and quite secret. But the reports done about it call it a miracle, the very next best thing to a cure for the curse itself. It allows you to _retain your human mind_, Remus; so long as you take it faithfully, this potion will allow you to control the wolf on the nights of the moon. The test subjects have yet to find a fault with it."

Remus sat silently in his chair, cynical disbelief warring with amazed hope in his mind. The very best next thing, indeed! If such a thing existed… He would never have to feel the searing pain of his own teeth as he tore into himself, would never have to worry about dying before the sun rose the next morning, would never have to live with the aches and pains brought on by the wolf turning on himself in his fury. If he could get rid of the pains of the injuries, he could very well live with the pain of the transformation itself!

_If. If, if, if_, his brain reminded him darkly. A miracle cure? There was no cure for lycanthropy, everyone knew that. Even his poor parents had had to accept the truth after years of living in denial and trying every gimmick they could find. So now, a potion that could allow the user to have their human mind during the full moon? He'd heard that one before.

"Remus," Dumbledore said quietly, appearing to read the cynicism on his face, "I have met some of these test subjects. I have spoken with them, seen the transformation itself, and _I do not lie_. These men and women are human in their animal form, Remus; I have even entered the room of one particularly accommodating werewolf, without his slightest reaction."

"You did WHAT?" Remus yelped, horrorstruck. Just the thought was so counter to everything he knew, and the risk… Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled merrily. "How… but… what… for Merlin's sake, _why_?"

"You know, you and Minerva McGonagall had quite the same reaction, nearly identical if I recall correctly. Quite fascinating, really," he said, eyes still twinkling. Remus was stuck on flabbergasted.

"But Headmaster, the risk!" he protested.

"Almost as if you had the same script!" Dumbledore chortled, completely ignoring his protests.

"Headmaster!" Remus said again, this time with a little less horror and a little more reproach. Quite unexpectedly, it had the exact reaction Remus had hoped it would but had had very little certainty would work; Dumbledore was a law unto himself when it came to conversations. But the great wizard was sobering, delicately wiping his eyes with a finger.

"It's a shame you never used that voice more on your friends back in your school days," he said. "I'm sure they would have been much more… manageable had you exerted that particular talent more often." Remus' jaw clenched and he looked away quickly.

"Believe me, it made very little difference on… in the end," he finished instead, staring fixedly out the window. As he unwillingly thought about his former friends, Remus realized that his desire not to return to Hogwarts had very little to do with his concern about being a werewolf. No, the true and obvious reason he didn't want to go back was, after all, those memories he didn't want to face. Of course, admitting he didn't want to face them was, in fact, facing them, so he'd lied.

"Oh, dear," Dumbledore said, apparently reaching the same conclusion, though Remus couldn't fathom how. "Your worries about being a werewolf, they are not the true reason you do not want to return, are they, Remus?" he said, the question asked more like a statement. Jerkily, Remus shook his head 'no' once, cursing himself for being so transparent. He was weak, he'd always been weak, no matter what anybody had said… To be afraid of your own memories, how pathetic!

"Is it the memory of your friends?"

"Yes," Remus sighed, hands clenching on the arms of his chair. The furniture groaned and he let go quickly to twist his hands in his lap, feeling much like the schoolboy he'd once been in front of Dumbledore's knowing gaze. "Times have changed, Headmaster, very much so but I fear that I've yet to let go of the past."

"A curious thing, the past, almost as much so as the future," Dumbledore said, appearing to ponder the ceiling. "Isn't it strange how the past affects so many people in so many different ways? How the same event can have multitudes of different connotations for everyone involved?"

Remus stayed silent, having long since learned that Dumbledore would either start making sense again or the conversation would end. There never seemed to be a third option.

Quiet reigned for some time as Dumbledore continued to explore the ceiling and Remus used the time to recompose his scrambled thoughts. It seemed like it was getting harder and harder to close the door on those memories, especially these days when Sirius' sickly face was everywhere. Stray thoughts and recollections brushed through his mind, leaving a strange confusion of pain and fondness in their wake each time it happened. Rather than fighting it, Remus found that he was letting it happen more and more often, even going so far as to desire for it to happen.

"The past is a hypnotic thing, Remus," Dumbledore said finally, startling Remus so badly he jumped. "It holds some of our greatest treasures and worst fears. And while we would do well to remember the past and learn from it, I have found that people often trip more if they are looking at where they were rather than where they are going." With that piece of not-so-cryptic advice said in a cheerful but gentle tone, Dumbledore stood.

"I must have an answer tomorrow, Remus. That is the longest I can delay to wait. You can Floo my office with your answer; I will be waiting." Remus stood hastily and accompanied Dumbledore to the door; the old wizard paused on the threshold, appeared to consider something, and then turned back to Remus.

"There is one more piece of information you should know," he said, staring at Remus somberly. "I don't know how much of these last twelve years you've kept track of, but there is now a student at Hogwarts I believe you will know well; James and Lily Potter's son, Harry, will now be in his third year at the school. As you were once one of his father's closest friends, he could learn much about his parents from you; sadly, thus far he has only had Hagrid's memories of them to remember. I think it would mean very much to him if he had the opportunity to meet you."

Remus clutched the doorjamb to keep from trembling, fingers making indents in the cheap wood. Harry, little Harry… Little Harry who obviously wasn't so little anymore! He'd be, what, thirteen by now? Maybe a little older?

Remus flushed with shame as he realized that this was the first time in a long time that he'd even thought of James and Lily's son. Dear Merlin, Remus had been so lost in his own pain that Harry had probably grown up without the slightest inkling that he had people other than his parents who had known him since before birth, had cherished him like he was their own son. Remus sent silent apologies up to James and Lily for his unforgivable selfishness.

"Well, that is all," Dumbledore said kindly, patting him on the shoulder. "Oh, well, there is one more thing but that can certainly wait until I've heard your answer tomorrow." He stepped out onto the porch, ready to Disapparate.

"Wait, Headmaster, I think," Remus began to accept the position, filled with his resolve to give whatever he could to the boy he'd once spoiled like a son and make up for his past mistakes. Then the Headmaster's last few words sank in. "Other matter?" Remus said, as if trying to words out. "What other matter?" he asked, suspicion beginning to emerge.

If Remus hadn't believed it impossible, he would have said Dumbledore actually looked uncomfortable. "Well…" he said, obviously torn between something.

"Please, Headmaster, what is it?" Remus asked seriously. Dumbledore sighed and motioned him to go back inside.

"This is not a matter for public ears," he said. "I assume your house is warded?" he asked shrewdly. Remus gave a small smile.

"Of course," he replied.

"Well, then," Dumbledore said, "you'd have had to know this sooner or later. Perhaps now is better after all," he said musingly. "Yes, I do believe… Perhaps we should be seated again, Remus. Here in the kitchen will do." Remus obediently grabbed a seat and sat in it, impatient to hear the Headmaster's obviously important information. Dumbledore tapped his fingers together before speaking.

"Highly disturbing information reached my ears just this past day. You've no doubt heard of Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban?" Remus flinched at the name of his old friend and attempted to cover it up with a cough. Dumbledore's sympathetic gaze told him it wasn't as suave as he'd hoped. "I'll believe that's a 'yes.' Well, after the escape, the Minister himself Apparated to Azkaban to question his guards. They reported to him that Black had been muttering fairly disturbing things under his breath for the last day before he escaped."

Remus felt himself pale. "What disturbing things?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"It was one thing, really, repeated and repeated without end. The guards said that it was a single phrase: 'He's at Hogwarts.'"

"He's at… Oh, dear Merlin," Remus breathed. "Harry!"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, that's the conclusion we've come to as well. Sirius Black is returning to his former duties and has escaped to finish his Lord's last task; he seeks a way to enter Hogwarts and kill Harry."

"But," Remus said weakly, "Hogwarts…"

"Indeed," he Headmaster said, "Hogwarts is a formidable obstacle in this plan of his. He would have to be very sly indeed to manage to sneak inside its grounds undetected."

"But that's S-Sirius for you," Remus said bitterly, stuttering over Sirius' name. "He carried out that last treasonous act right under all our noses… the spy all along."

"That very thing worries me, worries us all. Black is no fool; he will not dare attack the school unless he has a means of solving that problem, and yet, sources tell me that he is, at this very moment, making a path that appears to be leading right to the school."

"Then he already has a plan," Remus said wearily, rubbing his face. "As rash as he sometimes was, when it mattered, Sirius always took the time to plan things out. He already knows what he intends to do." For the first time, Remus noticed he was still calling Sirius by his first name rather than his last, as the Headmaster was doing, and he wondered why.

"I can't fathom how he plans to enter the grounds," Dumbledore said musingly. "There are very few points in the barrier spells where humans are allowed through and the spells have already been altered to exclude him. Surely, he must know that…"

In a flash of insight, Remus realized how Sirius was going to accomplish it. In the twelve years since the disaster, Remus had nearly forgotten how his friends had achieved the ultimate in Tranfiguration, how they'd become Animagi for him. Sirius didn't intend to walk onto the grounds; Padfoot did.

"Sir," Remus said quickly, about to reveal everything, laws be damned. But he hesitated as Dumbledore looked at him seriously; how could he tell the Headmaster what they'd done all those years ago, how three teenage wizards how illegally become Animagi to keep their werewolf friend distracted and how they'd let said werewolf out of his cage to the peril of the humans nearby? How could he tell the first man to ever give him a real chance that he'd broken, no, mutilated his trust in such a way?

The answer was, he couldn't. Remus found he couldn't speak Sirius' plan without giving everything away, and he was sickened with himself that he was so scared for his own well-being that he'd put an innocent boy in danger just to save himself. But maybe…

Maybe he could make up for it? No one had known Sirius Black better than Remus, except maybe James. But Remus could protect Harry if he taught at the school, set all sorts of wards and protections specific only to the traitor himself, made all the more potent by Remus' specific knowledge of Sirius' character. And Remus was good at wards and protections, he knew he was; Harry would be much safer if Remus was there than if he just told the Headmaster of Sirius' plan. After all, telling the Headmaster of Padfoot would only delay Sirius, wouldn't it? He'd find some other way to get into the grounds, of course. It was much better for Remus just to be there.

Remus said, "Sir, I want to teach at Hogwarts for you." And if anyone ever asked, he would deny the accusation that he wasn't doing this only for Harry's protection. Sirius factored into this decision not at all, except to provoke him to protect Harry. That's all it was.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: One for each character, as usual. Sorry Sirius' parts are short, they'll get better eventually.

~Shadow

* * *

"I. Hate. Bloody. Forests," Sirius growled as he ripped his way through yet another tangle of bushes.

It was hot, he was tired, and this stupid forest seemed to be doing everything in its bloody power to keep him from moving forward. He'd gotten caught in no less than three briar bushes, two unidentifiable plants that he swore had tried to eat him, something that looked suspiciously like Devil's Snare, and had six other encounters with varying and nameless shrubbery of a less suspicious nature. He'd fallen down an embankment, bashed his head on a low branch, tripped over two roots, caught his foot in what he hoped was a rabbit hole, and nearly trodden on a snake. The last part he wouldn't have minded, he hated the bloody things, but it had looked poisonous and almost bit him.

All in all, he was not having a remotely good time. "Having a right good laugh up there, aren't you, James? Suppose you think this serves me right?" Sirius continued to mutter.

"Damn straight," James would have replied and Sirius growled again. While he was not having fun getting through this forest, he was finding that it was helping to improve his state of mind. That or he'd gone completely mental and wasn't aware enough to care.

The past few days he'd been in this forest, Sirius found that words had been coming back to him more and more. He'd noticed soon after his fateful encounter with Harry that the words that had the least amount of meaning to him, the ones that had had nothing to do with That Place, were the ones he had to work hardest to find. Thus the reason he had remembered all those names to call Peter but not the word for house, fence, or, in the beginning, tree. But now they were coming back, both the Muggle words and some of the wizarding ones.

He'd been very proud of himself for remembering the name, look, and feel of Devil's Snare even as he'd been high-tailing it in the opposite direction as fast as he could. Of course, the feel of Devil's Snare is a hard thing to forget but still, he'd remembered the name for it, hadn't he? That was an accomplishment as far as he was concerned. Though he did wonder how he'd met that species of plant before. Obviously, it must have been something funny, or happy, or generally treasured otherwise he'd still have it.

Not the most patient by nature, Sirius racked his brain as he continued on. Whoever said the inmates from That Place got their memories back as soon as they stepped out the door obviously hadn't stayed there long enough. Twelve years was a long, long time and while he was getting some memories back, the process certainly wasn't instantaneous. Pummeling his brain didn't usually help matters, often just landing him with a headache, but he wasn't willing to wait or be content with just the little trickles that came every now and again.

It had something to do with James. He'd been saying something… But what was it that James had said? Oh, yeah, they'd been commiserating with each other about… that game with brooms and balls and hoops, what was it again? Damn it, he'd already remembered that. Hadn't he? He thought he had but his brain was so twisted he couldn't even be sure of that much.

It was another few feet and another few moment's concentration before the name came: Quidditch! Right, that! They'd been commiserating after being bashed up pretty badly in the game and James had said something… Oh, it was "Oh, stop bloody whining about dying! You're never going to die 'cause you're just too damn stubborn!" Apparently, he'd been stubborn even when he was young. Interesting.

"So stubborn and so determined to do exactly as you please without a care for anyone else!" now-James snarled.

Sirius winced and shook his head, trying to clear it. Conversations involving James were difficult to say the least. Sirius was having trouble distinguishing what were memories coming back and what were products of his rampant and guilty imagination. James was nearly always yelling at him these days for one thing or another, most of it centering around Harry.

"Why are you going to find him, you already almost got him killed once!"

"What are you going to do, a great filthy black dog like yourself! It's not like the famous murderer can warn him; you'd probably scare him to death!"

"Are you trying to get him killed? He's bad enough off without bringing your heritage around him."

That last part, though, Sirius didn't have any trouble as labeling part of his imagination. Not even at his most angry did James ever bring up the subject of Sirius' dark parentage. He knew the other teen gave himself more than enough grief about the subject without anyone's help and had often spent a great amount of time trying to convince Sirius that he wasn't at all like his family. He'd failed in the end, though; now Sirius was more convinced of it than ever.

The memory hit him with the force of The Whomping Willow, a tree he was not so glad to remember, and Sirius stopped dead in the middle of the forest, one hand on a tree trunk, staring at the ground with one foot in the air. He'd learned this was the best way to deal with such sudden occurrences; they were quite overwhelming and it often took him time to recover from the mingled elation and sadness that came crashing in the wake.

_It was autumn; the trees were turning browns and golds, their beautiful leaves falling to their deaths on the still-green grounds._ _"Remus, wait!" Sirius called, tearing up a hill in the effort to catch his elusive friend. Remus was far ahead of him, also running, but running away. From him. _

"_Dammit, Remus, I said stop!" Sirius yelled, tripping and sliding as he fought to get himself up the slippery grass._

_ "Go away, Sirius!" Remus yelled back, not slowing._

_ "Bloody…" Sirius muttered, yanking out his wand. With two words, a swish, and a poke of his wand, Sirius hexed Remus' legs together and the other boy toppled hard to the ground with a cry of dismay. Sirius gasped; he hadn't meant to hurt Remus, only slow him down. It was his stupid bloodline, he was cursed to always mess things up, no matter how innocently they'd started…_

_ "Remus!" he cried, dropping to his knees beside the still werewolf. "Remus, are you okay? Oh, please, I'm sorry…." he said, reaching out to roll Remus onto his back. _

_The wand, slender, willow, twelve inches with a unicorn hair core, caught him just under the ribs. Sirius yelped in pain and flinched back as the waterfall of sparks caught his tender skin through his shirt. Remus didn't need words for a spell; he'd been better than that since third year. "Bloody hell!"_

_ "I said, leave me alone!" Remus snarled at him and Sirius froze at the tears on his face._

_Remus turned his attention away from Sirius to release himself of the hex and all Sirius could do was blink. The younger boy angrily dragged his sleeves across his face, eliminating the tears as he attempted the movement to undo Sirius' work. But his hand shook, destroying the counter-spell, and he sat there, angrier than ever at himself, at the world and its unfairness._

_He tried again and a third time with no better luck before Sirius finally recovered his wits and wordlessly removed the binding. Remus dragged himself to his feet painfully._

_ "Stay awa-" Remus started dully before Sirius grabbed him into a tight embrace, muffling the rest of Remus' words with surprise. Remus stayed still for one shocked moment, then struggled to pull away. "Sirius, don't-"_

_ "Don't believe him, Rem. You're no monster, no matter what Snivellus says. Don't you ever listen to him, not for a moment," Sirius whispered into his tawny hair. Remus stilled his protests, then sagged slightly in Sirius' arms, for once taking advantage of the support offered to him so willingly. He buried his face into Sirius' expensive robes, trying not to cry again._

_ "How do you know?" he asked hoarsely. "How do you know I'm not?"_

_ "Because I know the monsters, Remus. I'm one of them, remember?" Sirius replied with as much humor as he could inject into the truly bitter statement. "I've lived with them all my life, grown up with them, was raised by them, so you can believe me when I say you're nothing like them."_

_ "I don't have your strength, Sirius. I can't stand up to the monster inside my own body, and I don't know how you resisted becoming just like the rest of your family. My family, outside my parents, is just as bad; you know that. They treat me like the evil I am; how am I supposed to fight that evil when I was raised to believe that's all I was?"_

_ "That's not all you were raised to be, Remus," Sirius replied softly. "Your parents, your family aren't the only ones who've had a hand in your life, you know. James, Peter, and I raised you just as much as any of them did, maybe more. We taught you better than to believe that, or at least we thought we did; somewhere, deep inside that heart of yours, you know the truth. You're not a monster, and never will be; we'll never let it happen. Never."_

_ Remus gave a quiet sob and buried closer to Sirius, who merely held him silently until he was calm, this too-strong, fragile boy in his arms._

Sirius sat hard on the forest floor, winded by the furious tangle of emotions that had swept through him with the recollection. Concern that changed to annoyance then anger, then empathy, a pain that nearly broke his heart to feel when he saw his friend's tears, sorrow to know how much he'd been hurt this time, as if he'd not been hurt enough, and a protectiveness so overwhelming it still lingered, made him want to go check on Remus, just to reassure himself he was still okay. Never mind that Remus was who-knew-where and would probably kill him as soon as he saw him for the mistake he'd caused that had killed Lily and James.

There was something else Sirius felt, but he didn't know the word for it. He knew he'd known it at one time, had experienced it more strongly even than he did now, but he couldn't remember what it was called. James had had it, and Lily, and Harry, as had Remus, he remembered. Even Peter may have had it, although Sirius wasn't sure he cared enough to remember anything more about that traitor that what he looked like so Sirius would know who to kill this time.

But this feeling was the absolute antithesis to Azkaban; it had been one of the first things he'd lost until he'd forgotten it even existed. Even his happiness hadn't faded as quickly as this had, but he remembered now. And now that he remembered, he could think about it, ponder it as he walked the long miles toward Hogwarts and his soul-son, to whom he owed so very much.

He would figure this out. He would. It was very important he remember the name for this feeling… He wouldn't stop thinking of it until it came back to him.

Sirius continued his walk into the forest, his mind miles away in that new memory, not caring that his inattention would earn him more scrapes and bruises. They'd be worth it if he could remember this feeling for a while longer…


End file.
